Luckless Night
by Sanguine Balladist
Summary: A stumbling thief by pure chance alone falls into the world of assassination and shadow. Led by his quick wit and unyielding determination, he rises to the rank of Speaker. Sometimes luck just isn't on the favorable side for Lucien.
1. Chapter 1

**Title : **Luckless Night

**Genre :** Suspense, Action, Macabre

**Characters :** Lucien Lachance , Dark Brethren

**Disclaimer :** Oblivion and all related elements belong to Bethesda Softworks

**Summary :** A stumbling thief by pure chance alone falls into the world of assassination and shadow. Led by his quick wit and unyielding determination, he rises to the rank of Speaker. Sometimes luck just isn't on the favorable side for Lucien.

**Information :** Welcome one and all to my very first Oblivion-based Fanfiction. Inspired by the plots and seemingly endless open-endedness that is the fourth Elder Scroll, one can't help but whip out the pen and keyboard in hopes of documenting its wild nature. Better yet, its sometimes fun to imagine how the main characters of the game managed to become who they were when you encountered them. I hope to do this with the ever infamous Lucien Lachance, as he has managed to worm his way into my heart, for better or worse. My interest was especially peaked when I learned he once worked for the ever mysterious Thieves Guild. Hopefully I'll be able to receive some constructive criticism and some positive feedback along the way.

* * *

For the first time in his life, Lucien fled.

He could hear the clattering of heavy armor behind him, silver gleam catching at the corner of his eye, shouts ringing in his ears. Even under the cover of night the stars gave way to his presence, taunting him as he tore through heavy brush and ducked beneath branches, tearing at his clothes and skin, threatening to halt his escape. He never once dared to look back; he didn't want to know how many guards were on his heels, aiming for his head with each swing of their finely crafted swords. He could practically smell the money they rolled in daily for their blind obedience. It was that very same undaunted loyalty that wouldn't let them listen to reason, wouldn't allow them to let him go simply because it was an _accident_ and nothing more. No matter the circumstances the crime had been committed and the penalty was death.

Past the woods and back into clear grassland he couldn't help but glance up at the moon, his long lost ally, the one that kept him company during the long hours when most slept. Often then not he would tell it secrets beneath the wind, watching in amazement as it tilted day by day until it too was shrouded in darkness, only to reappear again in its glistening silver glory. Now, with soft dirt kicking up behind his every desperate step, the moon sat cold and steady, refusing to even acknowledge the turmoil bellow. Cursing beneath his breath at any and every God he could think of, he ripped a scroll from beneath his shirt, breaking the wax seal and unfurling it with little regard for its condition. The writing was scrawled in black ink, intricate and ancient, cracked and worn with age and abuse. The words rolled from his tongue, quiet and guarded until the words turned red and burnt through the page, destroying it in seconds, ash falling between his fingers. Behind him rose a beast formed entirely of flames, hunched and low, red eyes illuminating everything around it. The Fire Elemental, resident of Oblivion, and well beloved creature of summoners and masochists alike. They were dangerous and feared and above all, dangerous. The scroll gave it life, and in a few moments the guards would give it death. Despite that, it was an effective distraction and much needed break from the relentless chase, just enough time to hide and wait out the fevered Imperials. Just enough time to think everything through and make his next move.

Ducking into a hallowed out tree, shattered by lightning long ago and carved out by desperate animals and bored children, he barely fit between the rough bark and rotting leaves, his knees poking out just barely from the tight confines. Softly he let out a frustrated sigh, inching up against the wood, trying his hardest to keep his legs from blowing his only cover.

Only hours ago he had been in a respectable Talos District house, three levels filled to the brim with chests and fresh fruit, the lazy scent of vanilla thick in the air. The fool of an owner had only a three-tumbler locking system to keep predators away from his wealthy stash, and it was obvious that he should of not wasted the money on it at all for all the good it did him. It had taken Lucien a minute tops to raise the pesky bolts and quietly make his way inside, unarmed except the intention of cleaning him out blind while he slept. He had skulked quietly in the shadows, raising lids and opening cabinets as he stashed jewels and gold into his shirt and belt, choosing only the finer quality items, unconcerned with fabrics or pottery. It was a slow but rewarding process, the basement then the main floor, moving up to the living quarters in which the most valuable of objects were usually kept. Right at his bedside lay a fine glass sword, superbly crafted and light as a feather. It fit perfectly in his belt. It was when he retraced his trail down the steps, that it made a horrid grating noise against the cold stone, sharp and piercing, waking the old codger from his slumber. He went after Lucien in a fogged haze, wild with fury and desperate with age, charging him from the doorway. A simple side step. That's all it took as he backed up against the wall, watching the ancient Breton lose his footing, the widening of his eyes as he realized his mistake far too late. The sickening crunch as his neck snapped when he hit the bottom. It was the commotion and the frenzied yell that alerted the guards patrolling outside, and in an instant the chase was on, the goods all but forgotten.

It took them three hours to finally declare the frightened thief unobtainable, the guards sheathing their swords as they trudged back to their posts, thoroughly disappointed. To be a guard, there was a certain degree of malice and hostility one had to possess, and these two were no exceptions. It seemed the highlight of every Imperial Legion career to throw a starving desperate fool to jail for nothing more then trying to survive. Deeming it finally safe to emerge from his own rotting prison, he couldn't help but cough and gag at the overpowering stench that he had been sitting upon, rubbing dew from the grass through his hair to get out the spiderwebs and dirt that clung on ever so desperately. He was thankful for the most part, that he had gone on unnoticed, and that his near panic-attack breathing had not given him away. Brushing himself off, he gave one last look at the moon before slinking away into the darkness, headed for the only place he could truly call home.

* * *

"There's blood on your hands."

"I never meant such an atrocity to happen, Doyen! An accident and nothing more!" His ranting was desperate and pleading, knowing full well the tenets of the ever elusive Thieves Guild. Never harm the beggars, for they are the Gray Fox's children. Never steal from your fellow thief, because honor is more valuable then any currency. Above all, never take a life needlessly for it is shameful and cruel. They were tenets to live by, to abide by, and to treasure above all else.

"Lucien, the Gray Fox does not take kindly to those that are unable to follow the tenets. I'm sorry, but you may no longer call the Thieves Guild your home." Armand spoke critically and calmly, ignoring his own disappointment with the entire situation at hand. He believed the young Footpad, accidents happened on a daily basis, but when you stole in the name of honor and freedom, accidents couldn't be afforded. There was too much at stake for everyone involved.

Merely staring, he couldn't help but let his shoulders sag, opening and closing his mouth silently before finally finding the words at the pit of his stomach. "Where will I go?" He lived in the Waterfront District most of his life, ever since he could remember, really. There was an abandoned shack at the far end that was free for anyone to use, as long as you didn't plan on hogging the bed for an extended period of time. A quick nap, a few bites of stale bread, and one was ready for a new day. It was when he started making friends with the beggars that he learned of the Thieves Guild and what they did, and it was Armand himself who trained him in the art of lockpicking and stealth. For two weeks straight he broke every single lockpick given to him, but on the first day of the third week, he successfully entered a small abode in the Imperial City, though he fled the scene almost immediately without enough courage to enter. Still, it had been a start, and after awhile he grew to love the shadows and what it provided him. Why was he to starve when a single man held more wealth then an entire city? A few fenced cloths and he could have meat for dinner. A couple of misplaced rings and he could sleep at the Tiber Septim Hotel in her finest room. A few years, and he could very well own a house for himself in the Waterfront, a bed and fireplace to call his own. Now? Now just a distant dream and a faded hope.

"I can't offer you any more advice or goods, but I can get rid of the bounty on your head for a reasonable price, as a parting gift." In all honesty he wasn't allowed to offer such a thing now that the young thief was out of the guild, but he couldn't help but wear his heart on his sleeve, trapped between a rock and a hard place. "Five hundred gold."

He had no gold to his name, more likely to spend what he earned then save it, knowing full well it could be gone the very next day. He lived in the moment, spurred on by small desires and penniless wants, not knowing how to sit on something that could be used for his immediate advantage. No, he had no gold shoved away in his belt or any fine cloths draped around his shoulders. Instead he had a single object, the very thing that had managed to earn him so much trouble in the first place. "Will this do?"

"Very well." Armand took the sword, examining it a moment before tucking it in his own belt, deciding to fence it to a dear friend in Bruma later. For now it worked, and even though he preferred actual gold transactions, he knew that this was the best option for both of them. "You're a free man so take caution in the future. Farewell." Rubbing the torch into the dirt he effectively put it out, leaving the charred stick where it lay as he made his way home, unable to look into such sad brown eyes any longer.

Lucien wandered listlessly to the small fire near the beggar's sleeping roll, completely oblivious of the prying eyes or snickers from the shadows around him. The thieves knew what he had done, knew that he wasn't one of them anymore, and that automatically made him something different, an outsider. By tomorrow morning he would be gone and forgotten with little hope of ever returning to his peaceful little life within the loose knit guild, and it tugged at his heart. Back pressed against the cold stone wall that separated the shabby shacks from the ships and docks, his head began to sag with dark thoughts and heavy eyelids, flames flickering slowly in his vision. Finally, he drifted into an almost comatose sleep, only woken by a shiver through his spine and a whisper in his ear.

"_Awaken brother, for we have much to discuss." _


	2. Chapter 2

"_Awaken brother, for we have much to discuss." _

The yellowed skin of a High Elf filled his vision, pale and free of blemishes, reeking of something that he couldn't quite place. She was talking, lightly, the flames dwindling down to embers behind her. He couldn't hear her, couldn't think of forming words as he slowly sat up, eyes never straying from her. She wasn't a citizen of the Imperial City and she sure as hell wasn't a part of the Thieves Guild. He knew the members, he knew the area well, and he knew she didn't belong. "Who are you?" He demanded.

She sat on a carved log seat, rough and a bit uncomfortable at best, glancing at him with a faint smile. "Are you barking orders at me?" She held an apple in her hand, slowly peeling it with her dagger, taking time to get the most out of the succulent fruit. "This isn't a social visit, Lucien, and I doubt it'll be a productive one either if you keep up that detestable attitude." She didn't like dealing with those outside the family. She loathed in, really.

Taken back by the venom in her words, he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at her, taking a step away from the entire situation. He couldn't of been asleep for more then a couple hours, from how the stars sat. "How do you know me?" He wasn't a high enough member in the Guild to garner attention, and he did little outside the city walls to gain any fame. He didn't even have a last name to speak of.

Finishing the peel, she threw it into the fire, watching it wither and brown, eventually blackening like the coals that surrounded it. "Lucien, abandoned at birth, a former Footpad for the Thieves Guild, and most recently a _murderer_." The last word rolled off her tongue with malice, turning to face him as he strutted towards her, eyes ablaze.

"I murdered no man!"

"That cold, lifeless body at the bottom of the stairs says otherwise."

"An accident!" He felt like he was in front of the Emperor himself, being sentenced to death in the rotting cells beneath the city. Like hell he'd end up there. Wait... "Are you a bounty hunter? My fees are payed, you have no place here." Though he had pawned it to pay for his crime, he desperately wished he had a weapon to defend himself with.

She let out a rolling laugh, nearly dropping her apple in the process, taking a moment to wipe at the corner of her eye. "A bounty hunter, really? Does this look like the dressings of a bounty hunter? Use your head, it would serve you much better in the future."

Finally taking in her whole appearance, he noted that her robes were neither standard nor necromancer, though they heavily resembled both. Black as a moonless night and almost a tinge of red whenever they caught the starlight just right, as if it were soaked in blood. Was that the smell that flooded his nostrils, refusing to leave while she lingered? The faster she was gone, the better he would feel. Taking a seat on an opposing log, he stared up at her through his black bangs. "You wanted to talk?"

"Ah, some civility. What a lovely change." Shifting her position, she sheathed her dagger, resting the apple on her lap as she folded her hands together. "I come offering you the chance at a home and a family."

"I'm not looking for a handout."

"It's no handout, Lucien. It's an opportunity that I suggest you don't overlook. You will earn your keep and prove to your family that you are loyal. In exchange you will gain protection and belonging, exactly what a family is. Great things await you."

"The price?" Everything in the world had a price. Your weapon, your soul, your friend, your heart. If you knew the right people, even the wrong people, you could sell everything and anything in sight. Nothing was free from that rule.

Her smile grew slightly, amused by his demeanor and absolutely delighted he hadn't fled yet. It made things easier that way. "Become a murderer for your family, Lucien. Belong to a family of murderers."

His eyes grew wide, his breath all but leaving him, mouth agape ever so slightly. How could anyone say something like that so casually? As if it were...were, normal? Taking a life...

"Taking a life is something you've already done, Lucien. You're practically already a family member." The small chuckle at the end of her words was maddening at best, causing him to let out a frustrated sigh.

"If I refuse?" He knew it was slim. It was desperate. It was absolutely impossible.

"I'll bury six daggers in your back before you hit the ground." In an instant she was next to him, lips brushing against his ear in the most sickening way, words whispering like an icy wind. "I bet you taste delicious." By the time her jerked his arm up to strike her, she was already sitting back upon the log, that ever present smirk taunting him.

"I suppose I have little choice in the matter, then." He relented, finally, a dark look about his eyes. Backed into a corner with nowhere to go. Tonight was definitely not his night.

From her robes she pulled a beautiful ornate dagger, black and gold in various patterns up the handle, wrapping around the blade itself even. "This is a virgin blade, Lucien. It thirsts for blood. Do what is instructed in that note and I shall contact you again, the next time you sleep." She handed him the dagger with the note wrapped tightly around the blade, sealed with a strange red, wax stamp. By the time he looked back up, she was gone.

Putting the blade carefully through his belt, he unfolded the note, taking a moment to decipher the intricate cursive writing. Luckily she had the mind not to use her native language.

_' Kill the Khajiit known as Nahsi, and appease the Night Mother. '_

He didn't know who the Night Mother was, or what Nahsi had done to deserve her fate, but it was something he had to do. Eat or be eaten, kill or be killed. Under the message it listed an address in Bravil. He had never been very far outside the city walls, and never once visited another city. Apparently, that would have to change.

Apparently, a lot of things were going to change.


End file.
